Singularly
by Nimble and Quick
Summary: In which it is all Aragorn's fault.


Disclaimer: If you think I own any of this, you are positively mad going on clinically insane. All characters, places, concepts, etc., mentioned within this work of fiction belong to Mr. Tolkien's estate. I am not going to bother claiming to own the plot because someone has probably already used it, the greedy plot-hoarding bastard.

Author's note: This was not written late at night or on a sugar high or with my bestest, bestest friend or in five minutes. No, in fact, it was written in the hour or so while I was sitting at my gate in the airport waiting to catch my plane to Peru so none of you angry anti-fans can lynch me for my slashy, marginally canonical ways. Or possibly while in a seedy nightclub waiting for my informant and being harassed by drunken single-white-males-searching-for-attractive-single-white-female-companions. Or maybe, just maybe, I was feeling writer's blocked with the short story I was attempting to write and wanted a diversion, but that can't possibly be it, can it?

And, with no further ado about nothing, I give you:

Singularly

It was, as it had been for many days, grey and drizzly outside. Legolas was being forcibly reminded precisely why he hated spending winters in the city. Minas Tirith was hellish that time of year. He had been cooped up inside for the better part of a week because it was storming and Arwen was worried about storms and Arwen was with child and Arwen was worried about said child. Legolas wanted to point out that she had let her one true love roam over most of Middle-Earth and go on a moderately suicidal quest to destroy the most evil of objects, but was incapable of letting one of her husband's friends leave the castle.

So, after one too many days with his nose pressed to a windowpane watching raindrops drip down, Legolas had made up his mind. He was going to confront Arwen. It was defiant; it was different; it was downright suicidal. He had dragged himself off the window seat with its chintzy pattern that had begun to irritate him after three days of sitting on it. Legolas had dressed himself and strode out of his rooms. He had practically skipped to the women's quarters; Legolas was an elf of action. He had at some point on the way passed Aragorn and given him a hurried greeting, but Legolas had a goal and he was sticking to it.

And he had found Arwen and confronted her and failed miserably. She had sobbed delicately into a handkerchief, placed a meaningful hand on her immense stomach and said sharply that Legolas would if allowed leave the sheltered safety in which she and Aragorn and all their guests were living and she was afraid that then Aragorn would leave and something horrible would happen and she was afraid of that horrible something. She had snapped at him, saying that her husband was not immortal and had to be more careful than a certain person. Legolas had bowed politely and, without actually acknowledging defeat, gracefully left the presence of the hated, beautiful, now pregnant monster of an elf his friend had had the misfortune to marry. He silently and half-heartedly scolded himself for thinking such uncharitable thoughts and reminded himself that if he were carrying a little life form in his body and had such a horrendously distended stomach, he too would be insufferably moody. However, he thought, he was, as an elf of the male persuasion, incapable of bearing children (thank Eru for that!) and acquiring unflattering stretch marks.

So Legolas returned to his dreary room, angrily ignoring everyone he passed, including Aragorn, as he, Legolas, had gone into his rooms and begun a desperate search for his plainest cloak. This had, most irritatingly, taken the better part of an hour. If the stupid human servants would stop arranging and rearranging, he would be able to bloody well find things when he wanted to. He was going to go out and drink as much alcohol as was possible while still maintaining consciousness. Then, he would come back and flaunt his inebriation for all to see. And he would laugh and laugh and laugh.

Legolas opened his door. Aragorn was leaning against the wall directly across from his door. He had to know. It had been luck the first time, coincidence the second, and now it was just suspicious. "Why are you lingering around my door all day?" Legolas said, annoyed.

"Why are you wearing a traveling cloak?' Aragorn asked.

Legolas briefly considered telling Aragorn it was rude to answer a question with another one, but decided not to. "I did not want to get wet on the way down to luncheon," Legolas said, adding as much biting sarcasm as he could manage.

"I see," Aragorn said doubtfully. Legolas smiled in a way that belied mild, if temporary, insanity, perhaps from being kept indoors for far too long for a wood elf to bear. He hoped that Aragorn was not coming to the conclusion that-- "You dare consider defying my wife?" --damn!-- "Ah, you are a brave soul," Aragorn said. Legolas opened his mouth to preempt was he was sure would be Aragorn's next remark, but he was not quick enough. "I'm coming with you. If I don't get out of here soon, it will be the death of me." With this remark, he began to stride in the direction that Legolas knew eventually let out. He realized that while guards might feel hesitant about defying the Queen's orders for a foreigner, no one would dare bar the king from leaving. Legolas hurried after Aragorn in a flurry of cloak.

Legolas breathed in deeply. "I can die happy now. Oh sweet out of doors, where have you been the past fortnight of my life?"

Aragorn merited this a quiet chuckle, but both were rather busy catching their breath, having just reached the end of a flight of steep, narrow stairs.

"So what are we going to do now that we have half killed ourselves getting here?" Legolas managed between gasps of breath. While he waited for Aragorn's answer, he quietly thanked Iluvatar to have survived their hurried descent.

"Taverns, my friend, taverns," Aragorn said as he dragged Legolas into the nearest (and, by Legolas's reckoning, seediest) of these establishments. They found a table at the back and sat down, Legolas with distain for the obviously filthy chairs and Aragorn with the air of one who has come home. "So what shall we have?"

Legolas looked at him incredulously for a moment before saying, "I have no idea; you are the one who loves frequenting these places." Legolas brushed a damp lock of hair out of his eyes. It fell back into its previous position and he crossed his eyes to focus them on it. Aragorn was obviously restraining his laughter. Legolas blew at the hairs to no avail.

Aragorn got up and, with only the slightest evidence of a smirk, went to order their drinks. Legolas wondered in what mad fit of passion he had agreed to drink the same beverage Aragorn was going to drink. Legolas was admittedly an elf and had the elven constitution, but his slight build seemed to negate any elven tendency against drunkenness.

So it was with apprehension that Legolas lifted the grungy tankard filled with a disturbingly amber-colored foaming liquid that Aragorn had plunked down in front of him. Aragorn had drunk nearly a quarter of his before Legolas worked up the strength of character necessary to take a sip. He spit it out. "This is disgusting."

"Thought you'd say so, Aragorn said cheerfully. "Can I get you something more, ah, refined, my good sir?"

"Get me a Banana Cow."

Based on Aragorn's expression alone, Legolas would have guessed he had just gotten half his tankard of ale up his nose. "A what?"

"A Banana Cow," Legolas repeated as if Aragorn was a halfwit for not knowing what this was. Aragorn clearly had no idea. "It's a cocktail."

"But you drink an Adonis Cocktail!"

"If you know what I drink, pray tell why you got me warm horse urine instead?"

"You wanted the experience of a tavern."

"No. I wanted alcohol. Go." Legolas pointed at the barkeeper. Aragorn reluctantly got up and went over. Legolas watched with a bland smile plastered on his face. His attempt at reading the barkeeper's lips --Aragorn was facing away from him-- gave him the feeling his masculinity was being thoroughly abused on account of his drink choice and his hair. Legolas liked his hair and was not going to part with it, even if it gave people another reason to speculate about his having an "inappropriate" relationship with Gimli.

Eventually, Aragorn returned with the offending drink, which Legolas accepted gratefully. He sipped it, smiled demurely and set it down on the table. "How can you stand to drink that?" Legolas asked of Aragorn's near empty mug.

"It's an acquired taste."

"Are you sure it does not just taste bad?"

"If you were right, why would so many people drink it? Why would this tavern be full to bursting?"

"Well, I don't know." Legolas knocked back the rest of his cocktail.

"Can I get you another inappropriately-named cocktail?" Aragorn said flatly.

"What is wrong with 'Banana Cow'?" Legolas asked.

"It makes me sound like an idiot when I say it!"

"A good thing I want an Adonis this time, then?"

"Thank Eru. I won't have to expound on your gender this time." Aragorn strode off with tankards and cocktail glass.

"Don't get your hopes up, Aragorn! It is still a cocktail," Legolas called after him.

Aragorn returned with more speed this time. "Take your nancy drink, elf."

Legolas took the Adonis with polite swiftness. "Harassed you again, did he?" Legolas asked.

"No, I'm grumpy by nature," Aragorn said huffily.

Legolas said, "Maybe I will get the drinks next time." He sipped his cocktail and made appreciative noises.

"I see it meets your approval," said Aragorn.

Legolas swallowed before speaking. "It has the proper amount of alcohol and fruitiness."

"I rather think the barkeep noticed the fruitiness, too," Aragorn said to the contents of his tankard.

"I am really, truly hurt, Aragorn," Legolas said.

"Clearly, this is due to not having had enough to drink."

Legolas flagged a waitress. "Can you get us an Adonis and an ale, miss?" He gave her a winning smile. The barmaid blushed fiercely and scampered off to do Legolas's bidding.

"You could have asked her to kill me with your cocktail glass and she would have done it, too. Legolas, how have you managed to stay single?" Aragorn enquired, duly noting his companion's effect on all human females within an irritatingly large radius.

"I have no idea. I have always thought my acerbic wit was the problem, but now-- now I see the truth." Legolas paused. "Most elven women think I'm bedding a dwarf."

The barmaid nearly spilled Aragorn's ale over the table as she returned with their drinks in time to hear Legolas's comment.

"I could see how that would be a problem. Gimli is horrible person, I always thought. How is the little bugger?"

"Good, good. Enjoying his brief freedom from my domineering motherly gaze."

Aragorn spat out his mouthful of ale and had a good laugh at Legolas's expense.

"Well, it wasn't that funny," Legolas said with the slightest annoyance.

"I'm sorry; I'm trying to imagine you being motherly," Aragorn said, still chuckling.

"Mmrph." Legolas pointedly took a sip of his Adonis.

"Oh, don't be like that."

"You're right. I should be laughing at you for myriad reasons, shouldn't I? Excuse me while I go laugh my arse off at the man who married the overprotective, pretentious she-elf." Legolas stood up, nearly knocking over his cocktail, and walked pointedly away from the table.

He returned after a few minutes. "I couldn't find the toilet," Legolas said sheepishly.

"Did you need to powder your nose?" Aragorn asked amiably.

"No, I was going to check that I hadn't got lipstick on my teeth," said Legolas. There was a comfortable pause in the conversation as they drank. "How is Arwen?" Legolas asked in an attempt at polite, socially acceptable conversation.

"Fine." The way Aragorn said it made it clear his wife was not a topic up for discussion and Legolas's sentiments about her disposition were not far from how Aragorn felt about her at the moment as well.

"How has your imprisonment been?" Legolas said, steering away from evidently touchy subjects.

"I finished more paperwork in the past weeks than any other king of Gondor has ever done during his entire reign," Aragorn said, making a face.

"Oo, two sips for too much paperwork. I, however, did not have anything to do and was forced to hole up in my room and write letter after letter to Gimli, bemoaning my fate," Legolas said.

"I'm betting that would be death by boredom."

"Even worse: death by court gossip."

"Ah, drain your glass. I believe your current mistress is Lady Cairaleth."

"Isn't she --" Legolas tried to remember her --anything about her-- and, in a moment of distraction and desperation, glanced down at the table. At some point during the conversation, Aragorn had put his hand on Legolas's. When had this happened? And why, oh why, hadn't his hand notified him? "--the fat one?" Legolas finished, mind quickly diverting to autopilot in order to continue his internal monologue. He had a hand so he could feel with his hand so clearly he should be able to feel with his hand because his hand was perfectly good and functioning. Except it wasn't. His logic was perfect. What was wrong with Aragorn's, then?

"I think so."

"Mm, I must be lowering my standards." Hand.

"A shame, that is, a downright shame."

Hand! "Well, apparently, you are sleeping with Lady Eowyn on the side."

"Ah, yes, blonde, handsome Eowyn. We should invite her down in the spring," Aragorn said. "A drink in honor of her pretty face and her clever conversation."

My Eru, hand!

"And her incredibly thin waist," Legolas amended. "To a woman with a figure like my glass."

Aragorn smirked. "A toast!" They toasted.

Legolas finished his Adonis. "I think that is enough for one night."

"It's the middle of the afternoon," Aragorn grumbled.

"Yes and I've just had what? Four, five cocktails?" Legolas screwed up his face trying to remember.

"One past sober."

"That sounds about right."

Aragorn started fiddling with his purse. To Legolas's relief, this involved both his hands.

Legolas leaned as far over the wall as he could without actually falling. "For years, I thought this wall was here to stop people from falling to their deaths, but all it does is add to the thrill of the view, really."

"Long drop, short wall, distracting view. Ah, the stories these rocks could tell." Aragorn patted the rocks affectionately. There was a pause. Aragorn peered down the sheer drop. "Is that a blood stain I see?"

"No, Aragorn, I think that's just some sort of fungus or variation in the rock. After all, a person would fall down, not down and then sideways," Legolas said, looking at the spot.

"You're so logical, Legolas. It really is your best trait."

"Another for the long list of reasons why no respectable elf glances twice at me. Thank you, Aragorn. You've just made my day."

"I didn't mean it that way," Aragorn said apologetically.

It took Legolas a moment to realize he had snapped at Aragorn. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning away from the suddenly gloomy view. He hated that things changed with one's outlook. "I am logical."

"Oh, but it isn't your best quality, Legolas. I was wrong. That," Aragorn said, "is your humility."

"As the most logical elf in these parts, humility really comes in handy when my ego gets bloated."

"I have nightmares involving your ego, Legolas. Its this huge monster of a thing --reminds me of the balrog a bit-- and it chases me around and pins me against a wall and, then, instead of swift death, it taunts me till morning." Aragorn sniffled pathetically.

"It's brought on by Arwen's snoring I suppose. Or lack of healthy marital bedroom activities, your choice," Legolas diagnosed.

"I'll go with the first. It sounds curable."

"You should invite Eowyn down before the spring. A mistress might give you a good fucking and get rid of all the manly pent up anger," said Legolas.

Aragorn, stunned, said, "Why wasn't I told elves used language like that?"

"We say 'kiss' and 'touch', too, but only around people we want to impress with our worldliness."

"Do you say things like this around Gimli also?"

"If I impressed Gimli like that, people would talk even more," Legolas said. He paused. Legolas realized he had better start paying more attention to what his mouth was saying or it would go the same way his hand had.

It did.

Legolas's first thought was of course to simply step back and away, away from confusion, away from Aragorn, away from another mouth on his. Upon effecting this plan, he realized that the only thing between him and his death was a short stone wall that enhances without protecting. He also lost his footing. Quickly, before he could plummet to his death, he wrapped his arms around Aragorn's waist and leaned into him.

Bad, bad idea. Aragorn, Legolas thought, had clearly misinterpreted this as a sign of affection, not preservation of life. One of Aragorn's hands was tangling itself in Legolas's hair. Damn hands! He sincerely hoped he was not mussing it. All Legolas needed was to be found kissing the King of Gondor and with his hair in a state of disarray. Legolas, ever thoughtful, decided to tell him so. So he opened his mouth.

Tongue! Aragorn's tongue was in Legolas's mouth and first it was the hand and then the mouth and then the other hand and now his tongue and Aragorn was married and it was very, very wrong and Legolas was kissing back.

He rather liked it.

Aragorn, to Legolas's disappointment, pulled away. He looked over Legolas's shoulder at something straight ahead, something Legolas could not remember seeing. "No, no. I can't do this. We can't do this. I'm married. You're an elf." He glanced back at Legolas. "Please stop looking like a kicked puppy," he said quietly. Legolas rested his head on Aragorn's shoulder. "'M sorry." He ran a hand through Legolas's hair. "I shouldn't have started this. I--"

"Then, can you shut up for a moment so I can enjoy it while it lasts?" Legolas snapped. In a moment of irritating irony, Legolas noted, the sun was setting. Legolas glared pointlessly at Aragorn's neck, noticing suddenly that he and the man and the wall and the castle beyond are bathed in a sunset's light. Sunsets, he thought, were for lovers kissing and happy fairy tale endings. This did not fit either of those situations. Legolas could have hit something and might have hit Aragorn if he had not spoken then.

"Sorry," Aragorn said sadly. There was a silence. "Damn logic elf."

"Stupid overly romantic man."

"Is that my best quality, then?"

"No, it is your best fault."

"If romance with you is a fault, I can only dream of what you must think my virtues are."

"They are not nearly so charming."

"I love you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Really, truly?"

"Really, truly." Silence. "Really, truly," he paused at an imagined precipice, "singularly."


End file.
